The Silent We

The Silent We May 22, 2017

Through the hotel wall a woman cries,

“I can’t do this anymore!” One soft life

in one small box in thirty-story boxes

across the city. She sends her alarm like

a cell letting the body know it can’t hold

up its part anymore. If I were a superhero,

I’d put my hand to the wall between us

and with my X-ray vision, I’d search her

heart like a surgeon of love, pouring light

from my palm through all the walls so they

could disappear for one long moment,

enough for her to heal herself. For I have

slumped against my own walls, unable to

continue. But I am only me. And so I put

my hand to the wall between us and draw

as much of her suffering as I can, the way

a shaman would suck venom from a

snakebite and spit it in the grass.

 

A Question to Walk With: Tell the story of a stranger you sent your love and good will to.

sad

This excerpt is from my book, The Way Under The Way: The Place of True Meeting (Sounds True, 2016).

 

*photo credit: Unsplash


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